


No Light, No Light.

by iwassoalone



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwassoalone/pseuds/iwassoalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the depths of his grief, Benedict remembers the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first freebatch fanfiction. Firstly, I don't own anyone and anything that happens in my crazy little mind is purely fiction, I don't get anything from this except a slight sense of satisfaction.
> 
> I'd love to know what you all think of this, and whether this should be continued or left as a one shot?

I don’t know how long I have sat there when the ache in my back becomes apparent to me. I shift slightly against the wall, flexing my long legs a little. I can’t find it in myself to move, I don’t know what to do. I want to run after Martin, throw myself at his feet and beg him not to do this to us. 

I’d known Martin for a long time on an acquaintance sort of level, but working with him on the first two series’ of Sherlock had changed everything between us. The chemistry between us had been evident right from the first time we’d met and run through our lines as Sherlock and John. I’d rarely felt so comfortable with another actor and it astounded me how his mere presence changed the way I’d played Sherlock. Something about Martin and the way he played John added a whole other dimension to my Sherlock. 

A sob catches in my already raw throat when I think of those early days filming the pilot and first series of Sherlock. I’d been carried away in a whirlwind of excitement and joy, he’d been so fun to work with and I’d adored every single moment I spent with him. We’d become very, very close in a ridiculously short amount of time and subsequently I fell in love with him. 

I’d never really loved a man before, never desired a man the way I desired him but I’d kept it well hidden. It had been simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. Every friendly touch he’d bestowed on me had sent me dizzy with my longing for him, every time I’d made him laugh I’d wanted to kiss him until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I was like a little boy with his first crush, on his best friend and Martin had been my best friend. 

I’d agonised through the whole first series knowing that the man I wanted was right in front of me and not being able to be truthful with him for the fear of losing for him good. If not for his fragile relationship with his partner Amanda I may never have had the chance to act on my deepest desires.

I fall onto my side, heaving great sobs as the memories wash over me.

#

May 2011

 

I let myself into my hotel room trying to shake off the feeling of lethargy I feel deep in my bones. It had been another hectic day of filming scenes for Baskerville and all I wanted to do was wash the grime of filming and waiting around on set off of my body and fall into bed. 

I take my jacket off and sling it over the end of my bed stretching my aching muscles. I pad into the bathroom, pulling my shirt off as I go and turning the shower on as hot as I can possibly stand it. I am about to shuck my trousers and underwear when I hear a loud shout and bang from the corridor. 

With a frown I go to my door and pull it open a crack to glance out into the corridor.

“For god’s sake Amanda, I can’t believe you’d do this to us again!” Martin is standing in the corridor, his phone pressed to his ear and his other hand leant against the hotel wall, his face a mask of anger. I push the door shut and lean back against it, trying to afford Martin the privacy that he always tries to cling onto fiercely. 

Trying to ignore what I’d just seen I undress and hop into the shower, taking time to lather my body with shower gel and then rinse all of the dirt away. I towel dry my Sherlock curls, grimacing slightly in annoyance and lay on my bed wrapped in a towel. There has been no more noise from the corridor and I resolve to ask Martin if he needs to talk when I see him on set tomorrow. I close my eyes and think vaguely about the pajamas in my suitcase when there is a knock on my door. 

“Ben?” Martin calls from the other side of the door and my heart hammers in my chest. Although we hung out sometimes off set, it was unusual for Martin to come calling when we were both tired from a hard day on set. I sit up, wrapping a sheet around my towel clad bottom half, Sherlock style and shuffle to the door. I open it to see Martin standing there looking tired with a plastic bag dangling from his left hand.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He asks, looking at my sheet and then back up to my eyes. He looks exhausted and sad, my heart thumps in sympathy and I stand back to let him in.

“No, I’d just had a shower. Come in, come in.” I murmur trying not to think too hard about the fact that the man I’m insanely attracted to is in my hotel room when I’m in nothing but a damp towel and a bed sheet toga. I sit on the end of my bed and Martin plonks himself on the small sofa adjacent to me. 

“So…” I say after the silence has stretched on for a couple of minutes “Are you ok?” I ask. Martin looks up at me, and as often happens I get the feeling that he’s staring into my soul and reading all of my secret thoughts.

“Nah, not really. Had a screaming match with Amanda, she’s whining about me being away again.” He sounds thoroughly fed up and reaches into the plastic bag he’d brought to pull out a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. I frown, it had seemed more to me than an argument about Martin being away for work again but I let it go. 

“Uh, I was wondering if you fancied a drink? Been a hard day for both of us, yeah?” He holds the bottle of wine up and I nod shyly. Martin busies himself with pouring us both generous helpings of white wine and I stand, grabbing some pajama bottoms from my open suitcase before retreating to the bathroom to slip them on. 

I sit cross legged on the bed when I return and accept the wine that Martin passes me, it’s not great quality but Martin could try and feed me arsenic and I’d still take it as long as he was sitting near to me. We fall into an easy and comfortable conversation about unimportant things as we always do, Martin doesn’t mention Amanda again and I don’t care to bring her up.  
The evening passes slowly and I find myself relaxing as the wine flows through my blood, we finish one bottle and Martin pulls another out smiling slyly. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk Mr Freeman?” I ask snorting, stretching out on my bed and smiling at him. Martin meets my eyes and smiles back flirtily. 

“I don’t know, do I need to Mr Cumberbatch?” He replies, he has lost the hardness in his face and his body is loose as he lounges on the sofa. My heart thumps heavily in my chest at his words. Yes, we flirted playfully and never thought much of it but tonight the air felt charged with something different.

“Eugh, I need to pee.” Martin stands before I can reply and saunters to my bathroom. I turn on my side trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach. I could do this, I could be his friend and nothing more. I was stronger than the feelings flowing through me. 

Martin shocks me by lying next to me on the bed so we’re face to face. Obviously we’d been this close before, were quite affectionate friends on the whole but tonight, I could feel the chemistry that lingered around us sparking in the small space between our bodies. 

“Hello.” Martin whispers, he’s so close I can feel his wine stained breath on my lips and they tingle in anticipation. I close my eyes against the dizzying feeling that hits me, we’re both a bit drunk and Martin is obviously mad at Amanda at the moment. If something did happen tonight, it’d be for all the wrong reasons but god help me, if he made a move on me I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to pull away from him.

“Hi.” I mumble past my dry mouth, I want another drink of my wine but his eyes - dark blue tonight- hold me still. I’m more captivated by him now than I ever have been. I feel as if I’m being backed to the edge of a cliff by him.

“She cheated.” Martin says and I hear the lump in his throat, his hand feels warm and rough when he lifts it to cup my cheek. The backs of my heels are hanging over the edge of the sheer drop in my mind and I reach up to wrap my fingers around his wrist whether to pull him away or to prolong his touch I don’t know.

“And I’m glad, because now I can do something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.” I fall as his lips come nearer and brush against my own softly. The kiss is undoubtedly chaste but it does more to me than any other kiss has ever done before. My heart sings, my body thrums and my soul screams to the rooftops with joy, it’s only my mind that stops me from ravaging the man holding my face in his hand. 

“M-Martin.” I groan, trying to ignore the things my body want me to do. 

“Please, Ben. Don’t. Just let me do this.” The next press of his lips is harder against my own and his fingers flutter along my cheekbone, his touch is divine and all I want to do is give into my yearning for him but I need to know that I won’t end up being a mistake. Steeling myself I pull back from the only touch that’s ever anchored me to this earth.

“Oh, god. You don’t want this, do you?” Martin asks, his face paling. 

“I do, I do!” I rush out before I even think about what I’m saying. I know it’s wrong, I know how immoral admitting to wanting Martin when he’s with Amanda is but I can’t deny it. I can’t go back to wanting him only in the dark when I’m alone. He shuffles closer to me again and I feel my resolve begin to slip. 

“What’s the problem then?” 

“You’re with Amanda.” I force myself to say. Martin’s hurting and maybe he wants revenge and I just happened to be in the right place in the right time. I won’t be someone’s petty vengeance, not even Martin’s. 

“It didn’t matter to her, did it?” His voice is cold and bitter suddenly and my heart hurts for him. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now.

“I won’t do this Martin, not if this” I gesture wildly between us “ is just a way to get back at her.” I finish gently looking down between us and expect Martin to storm out. Instead he laughs and I look up at him again, shocked.

“You know, for someone who plays geniuses you can be really fucking stupid.” He reaches out and latches his fingers in the curls at the back of my head and brings our faces together until we’re breathing in each others air. My body begins to tremble and I can’t stop the soft moan that falls from my lips.

“Understand this.” His voice is low and dangerous and it adds to the feeling humming around us. “I.” He places a harsh open mouthed kiss on my lips. “Have.” Another to my chin. “Wanted” This time he bites my lip softly and I jerk in his hold. “You. For. Months” He smashes his lips to mine and bullies my lips open with his tongue and then we’re kissing frantically. 

Martin rolls us so he’s pressed against me, his solid body weighing me down against the soft hotel mattress. His tongue rolls against mine and I can’t stop myself kissing him back, has he really wanted me for all this time too?

“You walk around the fucking set like some fucking sex god, and yet you have no idea how crazy it makes me.” Martin growls against my lips and I can feel my cock start to harden in my pajama bottoms.

“You tease me, and I can’t stop myself from taking this anymore. From showing you just what you do to me.” With his words Martin takes one of my hands where I’d been clutching the bedsheet and presses it to his groin where he’s unmistakably erect.

“Oh, god. I didn’t know.” I garble lamely as Martin presses himself against my hand. Lifting himself on his arms, he looks down between us and sees the bulge in my trousers, I blush as he grins at me, a predatorial glint in his eye.

“No more talking.” He says as I open my mouth to ask him if he’s sure he wants to do this. His mouth is moving over my chest, tongue and lips lingering on my pectoral muscles. I move my hand from his crotch to wrap around the back of his neck, the first flick of his tongue on my nipple makes my back arch.

“Uh-huh.” I sigh heavily trying to catch my breath. Martin busies himself with kissing every inch of my stomach he can capture and briefly swirls his tongue in my navel. I cry out and buck against his clothed chest when he does that. 

“I want to kiss you.” I gasp out and pull him back up my body, we kiss again and there’s no hesitancy this time. I no longer care if this is right or if it is wrong, I just want to carry on feeling this way for as long as possible. Our bodies have begun to move against each other and the friction on my cock is delicious but no where near enough.

Luckily Martin seems to have come to the same conclusion and he impatiently pulls my bottoms down until my cock is free, he then shimmies his jeans and boxers down until they are around his thighs. Looking at me pointedly he lowers himself back onto me and positions us so our erections are touching. Martin swears under his breath and I cry out at the sensation of our cocks touching, spitting roughly on his hand Martin slicks us both and then slowly begins to move.

I feel as if i’m drowning in the feelings zooming through my nerve endings, it’s rough and dirty and bloody amazing. After a few moments of fumbling we find a rhythm that suits us both, I grab impatiently at Martin’s back, digging my fingers into the muscles flexing there. The room is filled with the wet sound of our flesh meeting and the sounds that come from our lips intermingling. 

Martin loses his rhythm and he begins to thrust much harder, with a snarl he pushes my hands up above my head and interlocks our fingers using the leverage to push wildly down against my body. I can feel the precome from our bodies mix with the saliva and the thought of our bodily fluids meshing with one another makes me throb between our bodies.

“Fuck, Ben, you’re so fucking gorgeous, want to come on you….oh fuck!” Martin bucks harshly and I feel him lose control against me, he yells incoherently and I feel his come splash hot and sticky against my belly. His movements are stuttered and his grip on my hands is tight. 

“Uh- oh- uh- yes, oh yes!” The words spill from my lips as I feel the tension build, a spring coiling tighter and tighter until my world blacks out and I still crying my release against Martin’s mouth as his movements gentle against me. 

Moments later we fall apart, limp and exhausted. I’m terrified to look at him, I don’t want to see the regret in his eyes. I am sleepy and satisfied but I feel nauseous with apprehension. What would this change? Was this a one off? Martin rolls out of bed and goes to the bathroom, wriggling out of his clothes on the way, I glance over and admire the view of his pert backside as he disappears into the bathroom. I’d give anything to be able to see that view whenever I wanted.

“Stop thinking, I can hear the bloody cogs turning in that pretty head of yours.” Martin chuckles as he comes back with a damp flannel. His movements are filled with tenderness as he pulls my bottoms down and off my legs and wipes up the mess we’d made off of my stomach. 

He lies down again and I can feel his gaze on me again. I can’t look. 

“Ben.” He whispers. I don’t turn my head, this is it. This is where he tells me that it was a mistake. Where he reiterates everything I already know, that he’s with Amanda, that we work together, that he isn't gay. He sighs.

“Ben, please look at me.” His voice is so soft, so full of compassion that I can’t ignore him anymore and I turn on my side to face him. He smiles and I am reminded of John Watson again, Martin isn’t a hard man but I love being able to see this soft side of him.

“I need you to know that I won’t regret this Benedict, I won’t ever regret this.” He sounds so sincere and I feel a pang in my heart at the hope it gives me. 

“But, you’re with Amanda.” I say, feeling like a petulant child who’s been told he can’t have his favourite teddy bear all the time.

“Hardly. I haven’t loved her for a long time, and I think she feels the same about me. I’m not saying that what we’re doing is justified but we’re together for the kids and appearance. I don’t want her.” His eyes are fixed on me and I look for any signs that he’s lying and I can’t see any.

“I don’t want her, Ben. I want you. I’ve never felt like this before, like I’m lost without someone. I think there could be something here if you want to try?”

 

#

January 2015.

His words echo wildly in my head and another sob heaves its way up my throat. I remember how his words had settled in my heart cosily and in the years that had followed I’d held them close to me. Even closer than when we’d finally said I love you to each other. He’d never left Amanda and I’d seen other people but like magnets we’d always gravitated back towards each other.

And then tonight he’d told me that he and Amanda needed to talk about their relationship, that he was sick of hiding in the shadows and that while he loved me he hated how we always had to hide from the world. I hadn’t argued, hadn’t the strength to fight against what he wanted. I wanted him to be happy and if trying to make things work with Amanda made him happy then I’d never stopped him. 

He hadn’t told me much other than that before he’d left, we’d kissed passionately against the wall where I’m now slumped and it had felt like goodbye to me. I didn’t want to think about them trying to make up, trying to find some common ground and the old love they’d shared. Since she’d joined the cast of Sherlock they’d seemed closer and ashamedly it had made me jealous, it had been the only thing we’d ever argued about. Martin had repeatedly told me how they’d managed to form a friendship from the ruins of their relationship and I’d tried to believe him and now I felt like a fool for not seeing this coming. 

He’d go back to her properly, they’d move back into the same bedroom and sleep together again. Go to events together and stand next to each other on the red carpet, displaying their love proudly. Tiredly I pull myself to my feet and stumble into the kitchen, tears running freely down my face, I gulp down two glasses of water before heading for the bed Martin and I had only recently made love in. 

I fall fully clothed into the rumpled sheets and pull the duvet over myself, it smells of Martin, of us. I wonder how long it’ll take for the smell to fade and hold the fabric to my face inhaling deeply. My love for him overwhelms me and I begin to sob again, I can’t stop even though my body is screaming at me to rest. 

I don’t want this to be over, I wasn’t ready for him to leave me. I’d never be ready for him to leave me, I wanted grey hair and wrinkles, cups of tea and preparing for filming Sherlock season twelve, a delicate smile covers my face as I remember how Martin theorised that we’d still be doing Sherlock when we were doddery old men. 

I fall asleep finally dreaming of Martin with snow white hair and a flat cap kissing the wrinkled skin of my hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben realises how thin the line between love and madness is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd so any mistakes are entirely my own. Again everything I've written is purely fiction and has nothing to do with the real people I've portrayed here. Feedback is love <3

Days pass and I hear nothing from Martin, I wallow in my grief as much as my work schedule allows. We’re due to start filming the Victorian Christmas special for Sherlock in a few weeks and I don’t know how I’m going to cope. Both Amanda and Martin will be there and Martin won’t be mine anymore, he’ll be hers again. 

I take a sip from the glass of water sitting on my kitchen table and try to ignore the bitter taste of bile as it rises up in my throat. I should have known that this would happen, that he’d be bored of our arrangement eventually. That his promises were all lies. 

The sun had set hours ago on this frigid winter evening and I don’t know if I can face crawling into the bed I’d shared with him only to be confronted by memories of him being in my arms. He should be here, he loved me. He swore to me that he did, that he and Amanda had nothing but mutual respect for each other now. He shouldn’t be with her! My anger rises and I lash out swiping the half empty glass off of the table to the floor where it shatters. Breathing deeply I try and reign in the pain that’s flowing through my heart. I am more than this, I have dealt with more serious things than a broken heart.

I go to the spare room where I’ve got my art supplies and busy myself with setting up my canvas and paints. I’ve chosen very dark colours today; crimson, black, a very dark grey, midnight blue. I think of all the hurt I’ve been trying to control and channel it into my love for art. I let the brush tell how I’m feeling and I feel a sense of catharsis as I make bold swashes of colour on the stark canvas. I paint until my shoulder starts to ache and my eyes itch with tiredness. Sleep seems to be a safe haven, whether I dream of being with Martin or whether I sleep so deeply I don’t remember my dreams. 

Stretching my aching shoulders I begin to arduous task of putting my paint away and cleaning out the brushes and palette I’ve used. The piece is far from finished but I know it’ll be waiting for me again soon. Without thinking I go to my room and am once more confronted with the mess of my bed. Panic rises up in me but I push it down, grimacing to myself. I will not let myself become this, I won’t let myself fall apart without some stupid man. I am stronger than this, I’d been on my own long enough to be ok with it all. 

I walk into the kitchen and grabbing the dustpan and brush I begin to clean up the glass I’d broken earlier but keep dropping the pieces. My hands don’t seem to want to co-ordinate with my brain and a yawn escapes causing me to slip and cut myself on a small sliver of glass. I curse and stick my finger in my mouth after I’ve checked there’s no glass in the cut. I take my finger out of my mouth and hold it up to the light, the cut is superficial but stings like hell. Sighing I drop the brush in my hand to join the dustpan on the floor and walk to my living room, I’ll sort it in the morning. 

I click the tv onto a random station (luckily showing QI) and flop back onto my sofa staring blankly at the screen. My eyes droop and my head falls forward onto my chest as I listen to the soothing patina of Stephen Fry’s voice and I jolt. I don’t want to sleep, my bed is mess and I can’t be bothered to change the sheets. I rub at my eyes irritably and knock the cut on my finger against my face, it stings again and I feel tears well up once more. The last few days have been fucking horrible and all I want to do is forget they ever happened. 

 

Someone knocks on my door and I ignore it, hoping I hadn’t forgotten about a meeting with a friend or something to do with work. I growl, turning on my side and jamming a cushion over my head. I just want to be left alone.

“Bloody hell Benny, wanna give me a hand with these boxes?” I sit bolt upright, the cushion falling to the floor. I know that blessed voice, I hear it in my dreams. Martin turns the corner into my living room and his face pales when our eyes meet.

“What’s happened?” He asks, rushing to where i’m sat staring dumbly at him. He kneels in front of me and reaches to touch me and I flinch away from his touch. Is this real?

“You left me.” I say aloud for the first time since Martin went back to Amanda. Why is he here? 

“What?!” Martin asks, his brow wrinkling in confusion. He reaches for me again but I don’t want him to touch me with the hands that have been renewing his love with Amanda. 

“You left me.” I grit out between my teeth. “You got back together with...her” I can’t make myself say her name.

“What? God. No, Ben, I didn’t.” Martin takes my hands in his smaller ones and I fight not to pull away from him. 

“I-I don’t understand…” I manage, my brain and heart hurt.

“Where has this come from? I told you I was going to go and sort things out with Amanda….Oh. Jesus.” He sits back on his heels and takes one hand from mine to rub over his face and his hair.

“I guess this is what I get for trying to be romantic and surprising you with the news.” Martin murmurs almost to himself and I look up at him again. 

“News? What?” I ask still trying to wrap my head around that Martin is here again, touching me and he told me he’s not gone back to Amanda.

“I’ve left her Ben, officially. We’re over and I’ve moved out.” Martin says slowly and the words sink into my brain like little shards of ecstasy. I blink and shake my head, convinced that in my grief I’ve gone insane and I’m imagining this whole thing.

“I’ve gone mad…” I whisper to myself, trying to ignore the Martin delusion in front of me and how warm his hand feels on my own. I stand up thinking that maybe I really do need to try and get more than the half a night of sleep I’d had shortly after he left.

I expect the delusion to disappear when I begin to move towards my bedroom but he just steps back looking horrified. I shake my head wearily and enter my dark bedroom, it smells of grief and of sex and contentment. It makes me sick. I flop on my bed, wriggling out of the clothes I’ve been wearing for days and pull the blankets over my head. I know ‘Martin’ has followed me but I know if I ignore him for long enough he’ll go away, like the real Martin did.

“Jesus Christ, what did I do to you?” I hear Martin say through the fortress of my duvet. He sounds scared and I want to laugh in his face. He doesn’t have a clue of what fear is, he isn’t alone drowning in a love that had finally made him whole only to have it ripped away without any hope of getting it back. He’s never been abducted and had a gun pointed at his face in Africa, he’s never even jumped out of out a plane. No, I know fear.

“Ben, please. Stop this now, I’m home. I’m sorry I left, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. Lost in that stupid fucking limbo we’d been in for years, I’ve left her Ben. I’m yours, Ben, I’m yours!” I left go of the duvet and jam my hands over my ears. This hallucination is going to drive me even more crazy, hearing the words I’ve longed to hear in the voice that I adore. The voice that I’ve heard lowered in love and disbelief, raised in anger and passion and void of anything when he said goodbye. I choke on a sob and kick my long legs in frustration and pain. 

“Fuck, fuck. Benedict. Ben, listen to me. God, please just listen to me for a minute!” The voice is raised as I have heard so many times before, but I’ve never witnessed panic like I am now. The hallucination is a damn convincing copy, but I won’t pay it any attention. That’s what it wants. I giggle to myself, breathless against the pain in my chest. I really do sound fucking crazy. 

“Fuck this.” The duvet is ripped from my body and I glance at Martin in shock, I didn’t know figments of my imagination could be corporeal enough to move my bedding. I shrug to myself and the pseudo Martin. The mind is capable of amazing and sometimes unbelievable things. 

Martin kneels by the bed and touches me again. A palm over my chest this time. 

“You think I’m not here?” Martin asks and I scoff. 

“Of course you aren’t. You went back to ‘sort things out’ with Amanda. Martin told me, the real Martin.” I clarify and Martin’s eyes widen in shock. 

“For god’s sake. I’m here, I’ve told you Ben. I went back to leave her, to come home to you. To stay with you, for good.” Martin says his tone desparate. I shake my head at him and reach for the duvet again. 

“No. No Ben.” He says grabbing the duvet and we struggle with it for a moment, I give it up and send pretend Martin staggering back a few steps when I let go. 

“You’re obviously exhausted, when did you sleep last?” Martin says, I can hear the struggle he’s having to sound somewhat normal. 

“How long were you gone?” I ask trying to remember. The days kind of blurred into nothing. 

“Three days, have you not slept in three days Ben?” He asks, I shrug again running my fingers through my greasy hair. 

“I got a few hours.” I say nonchalantly. Pseudo Martin is unusually persistent but I’m getting used to him now. It’s nice having him here, even if he isn’t real. 

“Have you eaten? Showered? Drank anything? Fuck Ben, you look really ill.” Martin groans looking over my body. I shrug at him again.  
“Of course I’ve eaten and yes I’ve been drinking, water. Why the fuck wouldn't I?” I say petulantly.

He storms from the room and I sigh and turn over, pulling the covers back over me. Battling with my imagination has worn me out and having a conversation with Martin albeit imaginary has soothed me enough to be able to settle off. My eyes drift shut and I can feel sleep calling me again when the duvet is pulled off of me again and I look up in sleepy annoyance.

“What the fuck Martin!” I yell and he stands there his face a perfect picture of annoyance and concern, hands on his hips. 

“Get up, you’re having a bath. You stink.” I can’t help but laugh at how blunt he is and I let him manhandle me from my bed when he smiles at me. He steers me into the bathroom where I see a steaming bubble bath has been drawn. I sigh happily and let myself imagine briefly that this is all real. He strips me of the dirty boxers I’d left on when I fell into my bed and his hands are warm on my skin and feel so comforting I can’t help but lean into my touch. 

“Get in, Ben.” Martin whispers and I feel a feather soft kiss flutter against my shoulder blade. I turn and look at him, really look at him. Is he really here? He smiles softly and helps me into the bath where I sink into the hot scented water with a deep sigh. It feels amazing. 

“There’s that’s better, love.” Martin crones as he sinks to his knees beside the bath, he puts his hands into the water and brings them out a second later cupping bathwater in them, he positions them over the back of my neck and lets the warmth cascade over my aching muscles.

“Are you real?” I ask timidly feeling a yawn threaten and my eyes begin to drift before I blink them hard. I’m not sure a delusion could have done all of this. Martin chuckles quietly, one hand kneading at the tense muscles of my neck.  
“Of course I am, you dickhead.” I grin momentarily at the playful slur and bring my hand up to grip at his, he stops massaging and our fingers entwine as naturally as they always have.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, embarrassment colouring my chest and face the same colour as the rest of my water heated skin. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry. I-I should have told you what I was going to do. I can see now why you thought I’d left you. This is all just a by product of you not sleeping. It’ll all be better in the morning.” He sounds ashamed and my throat tightens as the tears come again. I try to stop my body shaking as the sobs take over but I can’t and soon I am enveloped in Martin’s strong embrace, my tears and damp skin wetting his light blue shirt. I cling to him and inhale deeply from where my face is pressed against the hollow of his neck. I never thought I’d be this close to him again.

“Please, Martin. Don’t go.” I sob and he presses me tighter to him, our position awkward with the bath in the way but neither of us seem in a hurry to move away from each other.

“No, no. Ben, never, never.” He whispers, his fingers stroking over my skin. He holds me for a long time before he gently lets go and I sink back into the water, the bubbles have long since dissipated but I don’t care. The stress of the last few days has exhausted me and all I want is to lie in the arms of the man I love, the man who loves me. The man who came back to me. I hear him depart but he comes back a few minutes later and I let go of the breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. 

As I lie in the cooling water Martin finds a flannel and wets it in the bath before squirting some of my favourite shower gel on it and lathering it between his hands, I close my eyes sighing happily. I know what comes next. Martin has a strange fascination with looking after me, cooking for me, bathing me...among other things. His movements are gentle and full of compassion as he washes me all over, washing all of the dirt and grief away. 

Once my body is clean, he washes my hair taking care not to get suds in my eyes, I splash him once or twice and can’t help the geeky laugh that flows from my mouth at his look of mock anger. This is what it should always have been like, no fear that Amanda would be calling him, no time limit on loving each other. He shaves me next, careful and precise and I feel pampered, and loved, so very loved.

I stand and step out of the bath into the huge fluffy towel that Martin has warmed for me on the radiator in the hallway. We trundle back to my bedroom and I see that he has changed the bedding to a luscious dark blue set we’d brought together a few months back. Together we dry me and dress me in pajamas though the way I catch his gaze roving over my pale skin makes me think I won’t be wearing them for long. 

I get into bed as Martin undresses, he slips under the covers nude and I immediately shuffle over to where his warmth is spreading out under the sheets. His arm comes around me and I lay with my head on his sturdy chest listening to his heart beat thump. It makes me feel safe, knowing he’s here. We wriggle until we’re comfortable, his legs hooked over mine where they are curled underneath him. I splay my hand on his abdomen, inching it slowly downwards until my fingers are tangled in the wiry hair above his cock.

“Hush, love. Not tonight. You really, really need to sleep.” His voice is quiet in the darkness of my room and I feel it rush over me like a warm wave of seawater. I pout and I hear him chuckle, he weaves his fingers in my damp hair and massages my scalp.

“I can feel you pouting, you diva. We’ve got the rest of our lives to shag like rabbits. Go to sleep, I’ll still be here in the morning.” He squeezes me and I nod sleepily. In his arms I feel as if I’m home, my heart is safe in his hands and I’ll never be alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben gets everything he's wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit naughtiness ahead. Not beta'd, mistakes are my own. I don't own Ben or Martin and am getting nothing but a perverse sort of pleasure from writing this.

I wake with a gasp my body feeling heavy and rested, shafts of sunlight pierce through the sides of the curtain projecting jets of light onto the wall opposite. The first thing I feel is heat surrounding my body, a comforting weight lain over my skin. My eyes flutter open and I’m greeted by Martin’s blue eyes sparkling, I smile.  
“Mmmm, morning.” I whisper, Martin doesn’t reply instead he presses his lips against my own, my mouth opens instantly and our tongues meet, twisting around each other. The kiss is slow and sensual, our morning breath mingling. It’s decadent the way his tongue moves against my own, worshipping my mouth, tasting me so deeply I can’t stop the deep moan that escapes between our lips. 

I can feel he’s hard against my stomach, the heat of his skin is penetrating my own making me feel owned. Sex between us has always been desperate, rushed, never knowing if that time would be the last. It’d been amazing, full of passion and lust - an act of frantically showing our love for each other, of how badly we needed each other. Martin had rarely stayed the night at mine because of his family and we’d been too scared to spend the nights in each others hotel rooms when we’d been filming.

“Stop thinking, and kiss me.” Martin growls, his teeth catching my bottom lip and holding on. I moan again, my body trying to arch against his weight. My cock is thickening against my thigh, I’m awash with how unhurried our movements are, my head tips back when Martin thrusts gently against my body and then his teeth and lips are attacking the pulse point on my neck.

Sparks shoot throughout my body and I clutch him to me, I want him to take me apart completely, see everything of me. He moves down my body, mouth and tongue and teeth claiming my skin as his own and I am helpless to stop him, or hurry him along. I grab at his head with one sleep limp hand and he hums his approval from where his teeth are grazing the hair that peeks out from my pajama bottoms. 

“Martin, please.” I whimper as he palms my erection through the fabric stretched over it. His eyes connect with mine when I look down my body and I’m struck by the passion glistening in them. His palm is hot and hard against me and I want more, so much more. I want to be inside of him, for him to be inside me. 

Agonisingly slowly Martin wriggles my bottoms down until just the head of my cock is peeking over the waistband and his tongue comes out to run over his lips in the unconscious gesture of his that always drives me wild. His tongue darts out and swipes at the pearly bead of fluid at the tip of my cock and I tense, a primal growl leaving my mouth. 

“Don’t tease.” I plead, I want the heat of his mouth, the glorious suction on my aching skin.

“I’ll do whatever I want, my love - because you’re mine.” The words resonate through me, racing through my nerves and bones and finding homes where they settle and make me feel like i’m floating. His fingers stroke along the head of my cock, just a hint of the edges of his nails making my eyes roll back in my head.

He rids me of my bottoms and fists my cock, moving his hand up and down my length gently. It feels so very good, his hold isn’t quite tight enough to get me anywhere fast and I watch his face as he watches himself touching me. I’d always been surprised how in awe of me Martin seems when we’re alone like this, he truly worships me. The first touch of his lips on my erection is heavenly, just a chaste brush of his lips against the tip. He repeats his movements, only to take more of me into his mouth each time before he pulls back with an obscene popping noise. My fingers tighten in his hair and I fight the urge to push his head further down onto me. His cheeks begin to hollow as he starts to suck, his head inching further down until his lips meet where his fist is gripping the base of my cock. 

His movements are deliberate and leisurely, he doesn’t move his mouth off of me, or try to take me in any further but he keeps up with the suction, his tongue making little stroking movements across my frenulum occasionally. I can’t keep my mouth shut, the breathy moans and frustrated whimpers filter down to him and I see his lips spread wide around me quirk in a grin. 

After what seems like forever, the suction lessens and he moves his head again, his lips gripping my cock like a lifeline. I bend my legs and plant my feet on the bed using the small movement to flex my hips and he glares playfully up at me. Martin pulls off of me, cherishing the head with his lips before he straightens up, looming over me.

“Do you trust me?” He asks me, his voice gruff and I nod at him, my breath having been stolen by the coarseness of his question. Gently Martin lifts my legs and positions them on his shoulders when he hunkers down in front of me. His eyes are level with my cock and I feel the first startling touch of his tongue on my bollocks. 

The soles of my feet press hard against his lower back as he lathes first one ball and then the other with his tongue. I’m shocked, I hadn’t know Martin had been this adventurous. I felt exposed and vulnerable, baring my most secret self like this. Martin continues to press kisses onto the soft skin of my scrotum as his fingers trace the skin of my perineum and beyond. My breath catches when I realise what he wants to do and my hips buck helplessly as his fingers probe closer and closer to my hole.

Blindy I scrabble in my bedside table for the barely used bottle of lube hidden there and thrust it downward where Martin takes it from me. He looks up at me, his lips shimmering with wetness.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks in the same gravelly tone as before. His hands grip my thighs and he glances down at my cock as if he’d engulf it again.

“Yes, please, oh god.” I stutter hesitantly. we’d only rarely branched out into the area of penetrating each other with something other than our fingers.

“Martin’ll do.” He murmurs with a smile. He lowers his head again but this time he bypasses my balls and trails his tongue down from my perineum to where my anus is fluttering under the tentative caress of his finger. A harsh sound emits itself from my throat as he circles his tongue around the puckered skin, my hands grip the sheets beneath me tightly. His movements are gentle and almost shy until I give an almighty whine when his tongue pushes into me slightly and then like a man possessed he sets to work licking and kissing my arsehole and the sensitive skin all around it as if he were born to do it. 

“You-oh fuck! You don’t have to do this…” I cry as my hips move under his ministrations. He hums against my skin, his tongue never ceasing its movements. The vibrations set my nerves on edge as it travels from my arse through to my throat. 

Martin doesn’t stop until I’m writhing beneath him. I can feel my abdomen begin to spasm as my orgasm gets closer, desperately I reach down and grab the base of my cock trying to stave off my climax. Just as my orgasm starts to swell Martin moves away and lifts his head to look at me, I’m breathing heavily and all I want is for him to touch me, somewhere, anywhere. 

“I want to open you up Ben, and then I’m going to take you so slowly you’ll think you’re going to die from the way I make you feel.” He’s leaning up over me as he says these words, his lips centimetres from my own and when I start to tremble his eyes soften just a little bit.

“Oh fuck!” His words wrap themselves around me and I can almost taste me on his breath, the musk and sweat of sex, the unique taste of my opening lingering in the deep, heavy atmosphere of our bed. Martin moves and I whine unwittingly, my hands opening as if they’d reach for him.

“Shush, relax now. We haven’t done this in a while.” With slow and measured movements Martin settles himself between my knees, he presses against the inside of my legs until they’re splayed as wide as they’ll go and then he works a pillow under my hips so they’re raised and angled in a better way for him to touch me. 

The anticipation is killing me, the air is buzzing with frenetic energy and as Martin just stares into my eyes as if he’s never seen me before I start to move my hand slowly up and down my prick. Uncapping the lube Martin squirts a generous amount between his fingers, using the other hand to slick them in a movement that mirrors the actions of my own hand and cock. It’s insanely hot and my legs shake with longing. 

Lightly he begins to circle a finger around my hole again and when he feels my body begin to relax beneath his touch he begins to push the digit in, I tense immediately against the feeling I’m not altogether used to and Martin places his hand alongside the one that’s stroking my erection squeezing gently. Bit by bit Martin moves his finger inside of me, deeper and deeper until I’m gasping for ‘more, oh god, another one please’. I don’t know how long we lay there, hands on my cock, first one finger and then another stretching me open ready for him to be inside of me properly. 

The first brush of a fingertip along the edge of my protest has my cock jerking so hard it slaps against my belly, with increasingly bold movements Martin massages that spot inside of me until I’m begging not for more, but to stop because I can feel my balls drawing up and tightening and my passage fluttering wildly around his fingers. I’m so close to coming, and I really desperately want it to be with Martin’s dick inside me, not his fingers.

“Now!” I pant pulling on his wrist impatiently, I really cannot wait another damn second. He smirks up at me and swiftly extracts a condom from my bedside table sheathing his penis- his eyes closing for a second -and adding a slathering of lube before crawling forward on his knees and positioning himself at my entrance. I take a deep breath and will my body to relax and open up as he slowly begins to push inside of me. 

Martin had been inside of me once or twice before but it had never, ever been like this, before it had been hot and quick, full of recklessness and although we’d both enjoyed it, ultimately it had been somewhat painful and unsatisfying for the both of us. Now though, we had all the time in the world and Martin was making damn sure he did this properly, full of tenderness, compassion and yes, love. If I thought we had made love before, I was wrong. This was making love, these movements, so carefully thought through. Martin moves ever so slowly, his eyes scanning my face for any signs of pain or discomfort. It hurts but not unbearably so, I’m caught up in the feeling of Martin stretching my body to accommodate his own. 

Soon his groin is flush with my own and I feel tears fill my eyes, I am so overwhelmed with how full I feel, how connected and cherished Martin has made me feel. He is still for several moments, allowing my body to get used to the feeling of him deep inside of me, when it becomes too much for me I bring my hands up to his biceps and squeeze, feeling myself incapable of uttering even a single word.

His eyes never leave my own as he begins to move in soft, rocking thrusts. Tears roll down my face as his movements increase in pace, they are tears of happiness, of belonging and Martin leans forward to kiss them off of my skin, to ingest my happiness for himself. I wrap my legs around the solid, compact body between them, my heels locking at the small of his back. His breath is coming in short, shallow gasps and our lips capture each others in breathless kisses. My nails dig into his biceps and he thrusts into me harder, trying to get the angle that will blow me apart, his movements are frenzied and urgent but no less passionate.

My whole body jerks and arches in his hold as his cock hits my prostate, an indecipherable jumble of sounds flow from my mouth as Martin repeats his movements, his thrusts no longer tentative, his body moving like a wave against my own. Holding himself up on one arm he reaches down into the miniscule space between our sweat soaked bodies to take a hold of my cock and begins to jerk it in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long until my eyes roll back in my head and my head tips back into the mattress, my grip tight on his biceps as I come over Martin’s hand and my belly. 

After an immeasurable amount of time my body falls limp beneath my lovers. I know Martin is still moving inside of me, working for his own release but I am too lost in the aftermath of my orgasm to really think about it. My legs have fallen for where I held him to me so they once more lay bent and splayed. My skin is tingling and I can feel my insides clenching around Martin’s hardness, my brain is floating and my organs feel giddy in a jumble of love and serotonin. With a last mighty thrust I hear Martin yell my name and feel the heat of his fluid through the latex of the condom, he moves wildly through his climax until he is spent and his movements slow eventually coming to a stop. I am beginning to feel sore and I wince as Martin pulls out of me, gripping the bottom of the condom. He ties it and throws it in the vague direction of the bin in the corner of my room before flopping down next to me with a heaving gasp.

“Fuck...that was...Christ.” He whispers, his voice slurred as if he was ten sheets to the wind. I try to chuckle but it sounds strangled. I feel high, all of my senses are heightened and my skin is crawling in a pleasant sort of way, I can’t make any of my limbs move, can’t remember how to speak. It’s awe-inspiring.

Martin rolls over and leans up on his elbow so he’s looking down at me, his eyes are a sapphire blue in the weak morning light. His face is full of adoration and if I could have moved I would have hidden my face from his view. His love for me is sometimes too staggering for me to take but I still can’t make my body obey my brains command so I stay there studying the weather-roughened skin of the face I behold over all others.

“I love you Benedict.” I can hear the lump in his throat and it makes my eyes well up again, our tears overflow, intermingling on our lips when Martin kisses me gently. He takes my breath away and I wonder how long we’ll be together, if we will indeed grow old together. 

“I l-love you, too.” I make my throat form the words past it’s hoarseness. Martin sits up in the bed, his fingers working through the short strands of hair atop my head.

“So, is this a yes to moving in with you then?” He asks, smiling down at me. I giggle, properly this time and find the strength to grab a pillow and whack him with it. I had never been happier.

#


End file.
